hat gloomy idea which had so often haunted her.

"_He_ is the only one against whom you can work," continued Gualtier;
"and you alone have the power of doing it."

Hilda said nothing. If this work must be done by her, there were many
things to be considered, and these required time.

"But you will not desert me," said she, suddenly; for she fancied
from Gualtier's manner that he had given up all further idea of
helping her.

His face flushed.

"Is it possible that you can still find any way to employ me? This is
more than I hoped for. I feared that your indignation at my failure
would cause you to dismiss me as useless. If you can find any thing
for me to do, I can assure you that the only happiness that I can
have will be in doing that thing."

[Illustration: "The Dead And The Lost All Come To Me."]

"Your failure," said Hilda, "was not your fault. You have done well,
and suffered much. I am not ungrateful. You will be rewarded yet. I
shall yet have something for you to do. I will send for you when the
time comes."

She rose as she said this, and held out her hand to Gualtier. He took
it respectfully, and with an earnest look at her, full of gratitude
and devotion, he withdrew.

Hilda sat for a long time involved in deep thought. What should be
her next plan of action? Many different things suggested themselves,
but all seemed equally impracticable, or at least objectionable. Nor
was she as yet prepared to begin with her own hands, and by herself,
that part which Gualtier had suggested. Not yet were her nerves
steady enough. But the hint which Gualtier had thrown out about the
probable results of her own death upon Lord Chetwynde did more to
reconcile her to life than any thing that could have happened short
of actually gaining him for herself.

Wearied at last of fruitless plans and resultless thoughts, she went
out for a walk. She dressed herself in black, and wore a heavy black
crape veil which entirely concealed the features. She knew no one in
Florence from whom she needed to disguise herself, but her nature was
of itself secretive, and even in a thing like this she chose
concealment rather than openness. Besides, she had some vague hopes
that she might encounter Lord Chetwynde somewhere, perhaps with this
woman, and could watch him while unobserved herself.

She walked as far as the church of Santa Croce. She walked up the
steps with a vague idea of going in. As she walked up there came a
woman